Dusk, the Day After
by Spike868
Summary: It’s Angel and Spike, together. It’s a bonding session with two ageold friends. It’s a sad and touching event in their lives, yet none of it is real.


Dusk, the Day After

Summary: It's Angel and Spike, together. It's a bonding session with two age-old friends. It's a sad and touching event in their lives, yet none of it is real.

Disclaimer: the poem _Virtue_ by George Herbert was taken from a novel called _Zenna Dare,_ in which it doesn't specifically mention a reference to the poem's origin, but I will put a copyright here in just to be sure. The poem Spike reads to Angel I wrote myself, and I think I'll call it _Now the End Has Come_.

© 2006 _Virtue, _George Herbert. © 2006 _Now the End Has Come_, Spike868.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

They sit in silence on the veranda, the sun shining dimly in the sky behind a thin wisp of white cloud. Angel stares up at the sun he's grown so used to living without, and smiles.

Beside him, Spike sits. He is deeply involved in his thoughts of poems he should be writing now he is so old and close to death. His grandchildren love his poems, even if they are not actually his, only recited by him and written by some famous poet hundreds of years ago.

'Spike, we're getting older every day.' Angel whispers, his age clearly showing in his voice. It is raspy, and croaks as he speaks.

'I've noticed.' Spike's replies, his voice making the same raspy sound. The two men are reduced to chairs on a veranda now, with canes resting against the arm of each. They seem so little, so insignificant now. It's nothing like who they were. Their grey hair and baldness clearly shows how much time has passed since they were young and different.

An aging woman slowly makes her way out the back door, being the only one able to walk without requiring the use of a cane.

'Boys, come inside. Your soup is getting cold.' She tells them, her voice still as young and pretty as it was in the days that she too was young and pretty.

'Just another few minutes Buffy, please.' Angel's raspy voice whispers to his one true love, the love that has lasted decades to this date.

'Be quick.' And with that she's gone, heading back inside the tiny little shack in the middle of nowhere. All that surrounds them is bush, rolling hills and the Caribbean blue sky. As Angel stares up into the sky, Spike returns to thinking of more poems for his grandchildren.

And with that, three young girls run up to him, giggling. 'Grandpa, read us a poem.' One of them pleads.

'Aren't you all just the cutest little girls there ever were?'' Spike whispers to them. 'I haven't a poem of my own at the moment, but I can recite one for you if you like.'

'Yes please.' The second giggles joyfully. Angel looks over at the three girls that are sitting at Spike's feet. 'Oh please grandpa, read us something.'

'My children, this poem is entitled _Virtue_ by George Herbert. It's a very, very old poem, dating back to the very early 1600's.' Spike explains.

'Read us the poem.' one young girl pleads.

'Yes, read it to us. We love hearing you recite poems to us.' Another laughs softly, clearly enjoying the company of her grandfather. The third smiles and looks up at Spike, her eyes showing the awe in which she looks up to her grandfather with. He smiles back and begins to recite the poem.

_Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,_

_The bridal of the earth and sky;_

_The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,_

_For thou must die._

_Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave_

_Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,_

_Thy root is ever in its grave,_

_And thou must die._

_Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,_

_A box where sweets compacted lie;_

_My music shows you have your closes,_

_And all must die._

_Only a sweet and virtuous soul,_

_Like a seasoned timber, never gives,_

_But though the whole world turn to coal,_

_Then chiefly lives._

The three young girls sit, staring up at Spike in wonder. _Where does he get these poems from? Where do these wonderful works of art originate?_ Then one young girl asks. She is the third, the quiet and sweetest of the three.

'Where are all your poems from grandpa?' she asks.

Across the world.' Spike replies. 'Some are my own.'

'Why don't you three young girls run along?' Angel speaks to them, and in respect they turn to face him. 'Your soup will be getting cold.' The three girls scamper inside, and the door clangs shut behind them.

Angel looks over to Spike, and finds a satisfied look on his face. 'It's alright, I enjoy their company.' He tells Angel. 'It's nice that somebody likes poems as I used to.'

'I like poems.' Angel says. 'I like _your_ poems. Could you tell me one of your own? Can you remember one?' Spike ponders for a moment, thinking first of Buffy's comment earlier.

'Are you hungry?' he asks finally. Angel shakes his head.

'Soup can reheat later, I don't feel like eating. Please, tell me one of _your_ poems. Just for me.' Angel pleads.

_Fellow soldier, you have fought through time,_

_Though time has fought you back,_

_You've lasted long into this world;_

_But now your time has come._

_You fought the darkness and the light,_

_With a smile upon your face;_

_Your grace and mercy once shown has gone,_

_For now your time has come._

_You leave this place in the hands of others,_

_Those are ones that you trust;_

_You give them the world to protect as you did,_

_For now your time has come._

_A soldier down, his message not lost,_

_In the world which he has now left,_

_Forever they'll keep on fighting;_

_But now your time has come._

_So come with me, to where we must go,_

_To where forever we can rest;_

_It's not the end, it's only the beginning,_

_For now our time has come._

Angel looks at Spike, his expression indescribable. He is smiling, yet he is crying; he is blushing yet his eyes show anger.

_Is Spike trying to send me a message_? Angel thinks to himself as he fights back tears that he didn't even know the origin of.

'What do you think, Angel?' Spike asks.

'It's nice.' Angel replies, unsure of what to say. 'I like it. It's touching. Is it about me?' Spike smiles and lowers his head, embarrassed.

'Yes sire, it's about you. You have fought for so long, as have I, and it's time we got our break. We are both old men, don't you think it's time we just let the others take care of the world?'

'Spike, I like being around. I like being here with everyone. Buffy, Faith, Willow, even Xander. They're all getting on a bit too now, not as old as us, but not far off. I enjoy their company, and watching them train the next generation of heroes; people to carry on what we've been doing all these years. I don't know if I want to go just yet, but at the same time I don't think that I have much time left anyway.' Angel explains to Spike.

'Angel, come on.' Spike begs. 'Just let it end. Come with me, just let go and be free. They can handle it, and besides, you won't be here forever.'

'But I should be.' Angel realises what is happening, and Spike sees his expression change to one of shock and realisation.

'Angel?' he asks. 'What is it?'

'Do you see what is wrong with this Spike?' Angel asks. 'We are sitting in the sun and nothing is happening. You have _grandchildren_. This is not right, none of this is. We're dreaming Spike.'

'What?' Spike asks, bewildered.

'We're dreaming that we are old men and that we have everything that we've ever wanted. We're human, we have family and we have the people we love close to us. And we're dreaming that this is the end for us. It can only mean one thing.' As Angel explains the situation to Spike, he begins to understand.

'So none of this is real.' He sums it up. 'And we're dying, for real.'

'Yes.' Angel informs him. 'Spike, we're dreaming and if this is what we're dreaming then we are never waking up.'

'So we'll be dead soon. For real?' Spike asks again, making sure he fully understands. 'This is what we need Angel, a break. The universe is finally giving us a break.' Spike looks to the sky. 'Thankyou universe.' He smiles, satisfaction once again appearing in his expression. He is happy for everything to finally be over. And he's with the one person he would ever want to be with at the end, Angel.

It is not until dusk, the day after that the end comes for them. Between then and now, they live what is the end of their lives. They tell no one of what they are certain of, simply living life as they would have if everything were alright. But they knew it wasn't. And by dusk, the day after Spike and Angel were dead.

Author's Note: This is the first time I have written something in the present tense, because I didn't know how well it would turn out. Reviews anyone? I originally wanted this to be a fight between old Spike and Angel where they both appear to be human, but then realise that they're dreaming. And this seemed to work out quite well, so I'll stick with it instead. It's slightly different, but still good. And I thought it was sweet that Spike had granddaughters. I'm a granddaughter, and I wish my grandad could recite poetry to me like Spike did. And just let me say, the metaphysics are not clear here and aren't meant to be. Everything is assumed in Spike and Angel's dream, in which they have everything they want in life.


End file.
